Romeo Blue (9780545520706)

by Stone, Phoebe

  I felt, as I listened to all this, like a small boat on the water being tossed this way and that. And I had so many boats now tossing in my head. Derek. Derek. Derek. Suddenly, the knowing that picked at the edge of my vision became clearer. This was what he meant. I knew it, of course. I already knew. Oh no, don’t say it. Don’t say it’s so. Oh, but I knew Derek would love having his own real birthday, May 15. How lovely. How perfect for him. He would love finally having a real father. And of course I wanted him to have a father and his own birthday because everyone else in the world had those two simple things. And when you love somebody, you want only joy for that person.

  And yet in my darkest dual citizenship self, I stewed, as if I were surrounded by blackout curtains. I simmered and sank and stewed in the deep corners of my dreadful, double-sided heart. Gideon was my father and if he became Derek’s father too, then I could never marry Derek. We could never then love each other in this world of reasons and rules. Because as soon as the papers were signed, Derek and I would become brother and sister.

  I fought and I struggled and twisted and I turned. The two sides of me battled and pushed and cried and stamped inside me. I took a long walk along the shore. I went way down the rocky, sandy beach to where the jetty poked out into the sea and I ran out on that jetty and I sat on the very point of it, the very closest spot I could get to England. I looked off in the distance where I knew my England was still being bombed.

  I sat there and cried and I cried and I cried. Even though it had been my meddling idea in the first place, I suddenly hated Buttons, Buttons and Babbit. They had reached in their briefcases and torn my hopes apart. They had blown everything away with their dark suits and their clever searching. Didn’t they know that I loved and needed Derek? Didn’t they understand what all this would mean to me? Now I understood why Derek had called our kiss on the porch the last kiss.

  But then another part of me popped forward as it always seemed to do. How could I, who had two fathers, begrudge Derek one? Why was everything so complicated? If I loved him, did I not want his happiness? Wasn’t that the reason I had gone to Buttons, Buttons and Babbit in the first place? I remembered seeing Derek sit on the top of the ridge as the Gray Moth was arrested. I remembered seeing his face, red and windblown and desolate as his father disappeared into thin air. Soon my tears changed direction as the wind turned and I cried, remembering Derek’s face that day. And in the end I felt lighter as I walked back home.

  From the shore as I approached it, I looked up at the Bathburn house. How durable and strong it seemed, with its gables and chimneys and its long windows and its ornate porches and its tower room. It had weathered so many storms for so many years and I felt so very glad that I was walking towards it now, glad that I was a Bathburn and even though nothing was simple, most of me was settled with the idea that Derek would now be a real Bathburn too.

  Dear Derek,

  Dimples now has a baby spotted turtle living in a bowl of water and sand in our room. All night we hear him scratching about. The Gram has insisted that she release him into the wild again. But so far Dimples has refused.

  And have you heard from The Gram about the recent developments concerning your adoption? The Gram will not be adopting you. It will be Gideon! Perhaps it is just as you had planned. The Gram says he wants to adopt you and told her that before he left! Oh, Derek, I know you will be so pleased. I understand now what you meant by a good-bye kiss.

  With happy-sad tears,

  Your sis, Fliss (It rhymes!)

  P.S. Dimples just let the turtle out in the hall and now she can’t find him.

  As soon as The Gram discovered Derek’s true birthday, she began to plan a party. Derek would be home soon and on May 15 we intended to celebrate. Dimples and I were to make the guest list. And, oh yes, I was happy and sad. I was happy because Gideon and Danny were safe. And happy that my Winnie was here. But I was sad because in the strangest of ways I was losing Derek just as I had gained him.

  By chance that week, Mr. Fitzwilliam rang us up. “Oh, him,” The Gram said, putting her hands on her hips and frowning. “I’m surprised J. Edgar Hoover himself hasn’t shown up at our door, snooping around.”

  “I should like to invite Mr. Fitzwilliam to the birthday,” said Winnie. “Because of his atrium of butterflies and because we have been doing some negotiating.”

  “Negotiating?” said The Gram, her gray eyebrows almost curving into question marks.

  Winnie just rolled her eyes and smiled and didn’t answer.

  “I imagine while we are at it, we should invite Big and Little Bill,” said The Gram.

  Dimples, who was standing quietly nearby, stared down at her shoes. She seemed rather glum in her messy, tragic way.

  “And while we are on the subject of parties, little nipper, shouldn’t you and I take a trip into town to Harrison’s Shoe Shop? If you promise to behave and don’t throw yourself on the floor and kick the way you did last time,” said The Gram. Dimples looked up sheepishly. Then she tilted her head and a happy look passed across her face. “Well, what do you say? Would you like a new pair of shoes, little nipper?”

  “Oh, not half!” said Dimples, breaking into a skip.

  And so we planned our happy, sad birthday party. The Gram and Dimples went off in the old Packard to Bottlebay. As they drove away, we could see Dimples bouncing about in the backseat.

  Winnie and I sat on the porch together after they left and we finished gluing all the photographs of all the children into Winnie’s scrapbook. After the last one was set in place, I turned the pages again and looked at the little faces in black-and-white, each child staring out at the camera in a shy way. Danny had made the passports for each of them and taken the photos. Danny got most of the children to smile. He was always good at that.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t love you,” said Winnie. “I always longed for you. These children are safe now and I am proud of that, but many, many others never made it out. And there will be many more.” She brushed my hair away from my forehead. “Poppet, darling, could you do me a favor? Do you think you could start calling me Mum, even so late as it is? I so miss being called Mum. Don’t call me Winnie anymore. Call me Mummy, will you?”

  “Oh, Mummy,” I said, “I would have waited forever for you to come home.”

  “You know, Flissy,” she said, looking straight at me. I was rather startled. She hadn’t called me Flissy before. “Danny and you and I always lived in flats, didn’t we? We never had a proper home, did we? It’s a bit late and you’re almost all grown up but perhaps we should have a real home after all.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Oh yes. We should. I always wanted a real house.”

  “I’ve been thinking about something,” she said.

  “You have?”

  “Yes, I promised to make it all up to you, didn’t I, darling? Well, I meant that. I have found a house nearby. It’s a bit of a wreck. It needs lots of bright colors and fresh paint and new owners. But I think perhaps Danny and I would like to buy Mr. Fitzwilliam’s house. After the war is over, and it will be over soon, Danny and you and I can all live there. And then you can be my child and Danny’s child and Gideon’s child and The Gram’s child. And you can be our all-grown-up girl too. You can belong to all of us.”

  “Oh, Mummy,” I said and I cried a little but it was a happy cry. “It would be so lovely to have a real house.” And I hugged my mother and it wasn’t an awkward, uncomfortable hug. It felt just right.

  A little later, I said, “I wonder what will happen to all of Mr. Fitzwilliam’s butterflies when he moves away?”

  “Oh, he will leave those for me,” said Winnie. “You know, very often intelligence agents do not receive honors or recognition for their achievements. They work in isolation and secrecy and that is the nature of it. But Mr. Fitzwilliam and the American government are giving me a room full of butterflies for my work. And that is enough for me.”

  “Speaking of butterflies,” I said, “I have a gift f
or you too.” Then I reached in my pocket and took out a very small present I had wrapped in tissue for my mother with The Gram’s approval. I gave it to Winnie and she opened it slowly. Then she held it up to the light and smiled. It was the silver hairpin that The Gram had given me earlier. It had a filigree butterfly on the top and that butterfly lilted and dipped on its little silver spring when Winnie tucked it into the braided knot of her beautiful hair.

  The next day, Dimples was down on the shore walking along, singing one of her made-up songs. I could tell she was singing her lonely song today and so I went down the long steps to talk to her.

  “Dimples,” I said, going over to a flat rock under which I had stored a few things, “about that answer to everything that you said your friend’s mother told you, I want to make a trade. I have an unusual shell here never seen before in Maine that I found on this very shore. I also have a nice ghost detector.”

  It was a bit of a lark and I was only curious about that answer. And I am sorry to say that the shell was a conch shell brought back by The Gram years ago from Florida and the ghost detector was a three-wheeled, twisted metal sort of thing that washed up on the rocks last week. “Will you accept these in trade for your friend’s answer to everything?” I said and I wheeled the rusty contraption over to Dimples.

  She took a look and walked round it. “Does it work really?” she said.

  “Oh yes,” I said, “when you roll it about, it starts turning in circles when a ghost is nearby.”

  “All right, then,” said Dimples. “I accept.” And she took the ghost detector and pushed it off down the shore.

  “Well then, what’s your answer to everything, Dimples?” I called out.

  Dimples danced off, pushing her ghost detector and zigzagging along in the wind. She looked then like a little ghost herself about to lift from the ground and rise to the sky. She didn’t turn round and I had to chase her all the way to the jetty. When I caught up with her, she looked rather bleak and her eyes wandered away towards the clouds. “Felicity, I am sorry to say, but I don’t really have an answer to everything.”

  “Oh, I know, Dimples, of course you don’t. There is no one answer to everything. Everyone makes mistakes and must be forgiven, even mothers and fathers,” I said and I felt a little tug at those words and I decided it must be a growing pain.

  “Do I have to give back the ghost detector?” said Dimples.

  “Oh, Dimples, I do hope we can talk your mum into letting you stay here at Bathtub Point until the war is over. It’s lovely to have you here. And, yes, you can keep the ghost detector. If anyone in the world should have one, it’s you, Dimples,” I said.

  It was May 12, 1943, and Derek would be home from the government studies program in a few days. I was nervous about his return. How would I behave when I saw him? I so hoped I would be generous in my love for Derek. I so hoped I would think of him and what he needed and not just of me. Perhaps that was one way my love had changed. Perhaps.

  This morning Dimples and I were moving about in our dark house, getting ready to go to school. Dimples was just saying that she wanted to be a page at the state house too. “What sort of costumes do pages wear? Aren’t pages training to be knights in armor? At least they are in books. Can a girl be a page at the senate?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure, Dimples, but no one wears any armor, although I imagine Derek would like that, wouldn’t he?” I said.

  The house was dark because we had not yet drawn back the blackout curtains. Winnie was making oatmeal in the kitchen and I opened the back door, thinking I might feed Vicky some dried bread. Outside we heard the sound of church bells ringing and it was not Sunday. They were coming from the Last Point Church, the one that sat alone amongst its old gravestones on the coast road. The bells rang and rang and rang. And then when Winnie opened the curtains in the dining room and lifted the window to let the warm morning air into the house, we noticed a foghorn sounding offshore. But there was no fog. The bells pealed and the foghorn called and called and called from the water.

  Winnie and Dimples and The Gram and I went out onto the porch and looked up at the cloudless sky. Someone was running down along the rocks, coming from the White Whale Inn. He waved his arms at us and called out, “The Allies have won in North Africa. The Germans surrendered there today completely. We have won in North Africa. A lot of our boys from Bottlebay were in that campaign. The tides have changed. We’re going to win this war!”

  Winnie and Dimples and The Gram and I went down to the edge of the water and ran along the shore, following the person who was calling out the news. “What did you say?” we shouted, the surf pounding at our voices. “What did you say? Wait for us.”

  “It was on the radio,” the person called. “The Germans have all surrendered there. Now we’ll have control of the Mediterranean Sea. We’re gonna win the war.”

  I thought of our Mr. Henley as soon as I heard that. He had been part of the fight for North Africa. He had helped the Allies win there and I was ever so proud that I had been his friend.

  Winnie threw herself down on the ground farther along the beach, where the rocks gave way to a grassy area. She lay there with her arms flat out beside her as if she had been knocked off her feet by some invisible force. The Gram sat there too in the tall grass and the May wind roared and ripped at our clothes and our hair and the blue sky opened and spread out far above us in a great, waving expanse.

  It was May 15, breezy and sunny, and it was Derek’s birthday. Our birthday party was all in order. Everyone began arriving at the Bathburn house. Mr. Stephenson and Mr. Donovan drove up in their government car. Mr. Donovan rushed towards Winnie. He threw his arms round her. “By golly, the Blue Piano did it. I didn’t lose a one of you. Gideon is a wonder. And so are you.” He seemed quite flustered and his hat blew off but he caught it and his necktie flapped in his face. Perhaps he too loved my Winnie just a little bit. She stood there in her new pale summer dress, shading her eyes from the sun.

  Dimples and I had made a banner for the parlor that said in big letters, WELCOME HOME, PAGE DEREK! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Dimples wasn’t much help with it. She was too taken with her new shoes and couldn’t stop staring at them.

  Finally, it was Mr. Stephenson who drove to the train station to pick Derek up. When Derek walked across the porch, back from government studies camp, he was very tall and was wearing a light summer linen jacket with a necktie. He had only been gone a month but he suddenly looked like a young man from Eton or a true page and he had two new friends with him, one of them a girl. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a plaid jumper and bobby socks. Derek said she hoped one day to be a senator for Maine. He seemed so pleased with her. Well, I supposed it was for the best.

  When I first saw him with the girl from camp, it felt as if I had been stung by a terrible wasp or bumblebee, the kind that dies after they strike, the kind that leaves you crying and jumping up and down as your arm turns red and swollen. Soon you realize it’s only a bee sting and that it will pass. But then you look down and see the pitiful bee that died somehow for you or because of you and that is what hurts the most.

  Derek hugged me hello and I knew it was a genuine hug, that he was so pleased to see me, that he truly loved me, that he would be for me in the future a dear brother and a true friend. I realized then that I could not ever lose Derek now. You could not lose a brother. A brother was for life.

  Mr. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Stephenson all crowded into the hall to say hello to Derek and his two new friends, whose names I couldn’t quite hear. Of course they had names; most people do, but somehow try as I would, I missed hearing them.

  Soon The Gram roped everyone into helping carry the long table down to the shore. Gideon always said The Gram was small but mighty. Now her voice carried over the waves as they crashed against the rocks. She called out the orders, “Watch out, Little Bill. Back up, there’s a large rock behind you.” They set the table on the ground and I laid out the long white tablecloth with the w
hite butterflies woven into it. Those butterflies seemed to dance across the fabric in a teasing kind of way, as if they were questions that would flit and flutter and never be answered.

  And then we all sat down under the sweep of blue sky. The tide was out a little and the seagulls and terns circled and called all round us. And so it was that we had a celebration and birthday party for Derek on his true, real birthday, May 15, 1943. He was shining the way we all do on that special day that marks our entrance into the world.

  In fact, he glowed sitting at the outdoor table and I knew he was happy to finally have his own day and to be rid of that assigned birthday that was really mine. Derek was free of me now in that way, though I knew in another way we would never truly be free of each other. I knew I still loved him and I was sure that he still loved me in a way. But it was a Romeo and Juliet kind of love. That is, if Romeo and Juliet had decided to obey their parents and to let each other go. If they had, then they would not have died so young and they would have had long lives and children and friends and travels and parties and books and art and all the joys of life. But there would always have been a secret passageway and a small room deep in their hearts where they still loved each other, in a way. Then so it would be for Derek and me.

  And as for those nights on the road or sitting in front of the fire or on the porch glider when we kissed, those afternoons and nights and the memory of them would carry me through the last of the war years and beyond. Then one day when I was fully grown, I would meet someone at a dance or on a walk and that person would remind me of Derek. Perhaps it would be his hair or his eyes or his stance. In that way, Derek would turn up again and again for a fleeting moment in all the faces of all the people I was to love later in my life.